


way up, I stay up

by cardboard



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Florida Panthers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 17:35:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3700995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cardboard/pseuds/cardboard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Happy birthday, rookie,” Willie says when they get back from the restaurant. “You bake yourself a birthday cake?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	way up, I stay up

**Author's Note:**

> uhh, most of this was written before the article about Ekblad living with the Mitchells came out, just so you know! it also handwaves it so Mitchell is unmarried. 
> 
> the age difference is definitely a thing here, so if that's something you want to avoid this is not for you.

Aaron knows what he isn't supposed to want, and what he is.

It's like a chart in his mind, the kind they used to make in school. One side has going first overall, making the All-Star Game, making the playoffs, winning the Calder. Things to check off once he's gotten them, one at a time. It's mostly hockey. He's always been good at those.

The other side has everything else.

Willie is everything on the team but his defense partner: he's Aaron's landlord, mentor, and captain. It's like he comes with a trifecta of warning labels and he's good at all of them, too, down to reminding Aaron he's going to need to file U.S. taxes. He's the person you want to help lead your team that just picked first overall into- maybe, if everything goes just right-- the playoffs.

Aaron is fucking stupid for him.

\--

He's smart enough to know it's a bad idea; knows himself well enough to remember Barrie, his first year on the team. He recognizes now the way he'd followed around guys like Pearson, who was four years older and leading the team in scoring, who tolerated Aaron trailing after him because he was sixteen and Pears was twenty and it was flattering, in a way, to have this kid who was given “exceptional player” status-- the first defenseman to get that honor-- practically panting after your dick.

There's a big difference between jerking off to someone like Tanner Pearson and thinking the same things about the captain of his NHL team.

(Pears had been drafted by the Kings after that first year at the end of the first round. Aaron watched the draft at home and thought about what it would be like to wear Pears's jersey, his name and number across Aaron's back.)

\--

The team is a good team. It's a lot better than he'd thought it would be.

They've got good goaltending, got Luongo. Aaron remembers being awed by him in Vancouver in 2010. He doesn't tell Lu that, because it would probably end up on Twitter, and Lu's easy to talk to, anyways. He plays with Soupy, who once assisted on a _Stanley Cup winning goal_  and also tells him at least a few stories about Toews his first couple years in the league to settle Aaron down before his season debut. The rest of the young guys are great. They're happy to see him there, happy to have him be a part of the team.

They lose their first three games but for the most part, they're close. They win the fourth, one goal for them and a shutout for Lu, and after that they start winning. Not that many games-- not enough to even have a hope of winning the division, let alone the conference-- but enough that people start talking about the playoffs.

It’s good to be in the conversation.

Aaron gets his first NHL point in the opener, a loss, but he gets his first goal against the Flyers and it's the game winner. Willie grabs him in a hug and messes up his hair in the locker room before everyone else can pile on. He gets the puck framed for Aaron too.

Willie's hand pressed hard into Aaron's arm, when he'd pulled Aaron to him. That's how it starts.

\--

It grows from there. Willie is easy to think about, omnipresent, looming larger in Aaron’s head than he does in real life. They’re roughly the same height and weight, but he feels like he’s bigger somehow. Aaron’s probably projecting. There’s probably a word for it. He’s not gonna look it up.

\--

He’s okay, living with Willie, apart from biting his lower lip hard when he jerks off. He doesn’t want to make any noise or give any indication. It’s not exactly like in juniors, trying to keep quiet so the guy in the bed next to you won’t hear the sound of your breath, but it’s kind of like that.

Aaron bakes cookies and Willie takes a photo of it, mocks him-- nicely-- on the internet. “I made some extra,” Aaron says, and Willie laughs and takes one off the baking sheet while they’re still warm.

He mostly goes out with the younger guys. He’s still got a fake from juniors and Huberdeau knows the bars that will let them in, rounds up him and Barkov and gets Barkov to dance. Sometimes Bjugs comes, lurking pale and huge in the back of their group, some kind of Minnesota giant.

Willie’s awake sometimes when Aaron gets back; sometimes he isn’t. He goes out with the team or with the older guys, never comes along when Aaron does the club thing. The first time Aaron doesn’t make it past the couch, he wakes up to a bottle of Gatorade left for him on the end table and the dog sleeping on his stomach.

So it’s fine.

There’s no one to really _talk_ to about it, but it’s fine.

\--

Aaron turns 19 in January, which means he’s legal to drink in Ontario the next time they play the Leafs and still two years away from being able to drink in Florida.

Half the team buys him beer. Willie buys him a six pack of something better than most of the beer gifted by the team.

“Happy birthday, rookie,” he says, uncapping the bottles and handing one over to Aaron when they get back from the restaurant. Huberdeau made Aaron wear a birthday hat the entire time they were there, and he can still feel where the elastic cut into the skin underneath his jaw. “You bake yourself a birthday cake?”

“I bought a cupcake,” Aaron says. He’s-- not sober. Not drunk, but not sober. “At one of those fancy bakeries."

“Ah,” Willie says. “Celebrating in style.”

“I think that was what we did tonight,” Aaron says.

Willie snorts. “Bud Light by way of Bjugs’s debatable generosity has nothing to do with style.”

“It was nice of him,” Aaron says. He takes a sip of the beer Willie bought. It’s definitely better than what he was drinking before, smoother on his tongue.

“Yeah, nice,” Willie says. He raises his bottle to Aaron anyways. “Well, we already sang to you, so I’ll just add ‘and many more’, eh?”

“Thanks,” Aaron says. He grins brightly, knocking their knees together on the couch.

That garners him a laugh. “You don’t need to thank me,” Willie says. “As nice as it is to be appreciated.”

Aaron takes another sip of the beer. “No, I do,” he says. “Should.” He shifts closer. “You’ve been-- you didn’t have to, you know? Just cause you’re captain. I could have lived with Thorty or whatever, and I don’t. And whenever I have questions, you answer them. Just like that.”

“You make it sound like it’s some big deal,” Willie says. “It’s not.”

Aaron leans in more, even though he shouldn’t. This is a birthday celebration, Willie and him, but that just means beer and the other half of the cupcake he put in the fridge, and then he’ll go to bed and jerk off about it. Again.

Willie coughs before he starts to speak again. “Any other plans for the night?” he asks. “You could hit up the clubs with the guys.”

“No,” Aaron says. “I have leftover cupcake.”

“Leftover cupcake,” Willie repeats. “That’s something, I guess.” He slings his arm over the back of the couch. Aaron can feel it, the warmth and the weight. “For your twentieth I think you should treat yourself to the whole cake.”

Aaron shrugs at him. “Maybe,” he says. “But that’s my plan.”

“And then what?” Willie asks. He clearly thinks it’s hilarious, how Aaron is going to spend his birthday. “Tuck yourself into bed early so you’ll be all fresh-faced for practice in the morning?”

“Yeah,” Aaron says; it is, actually, true. “I mean first I’m gonna--” he bites his lip. “Um.”

That gets him a real laugh, one that starts out a surprised huff of breath. “You don’t need to finish that sentence,” Willie says. “As long as I don’t find porn under the mattress, I’m good.”

“I don’t hide porn under my mattress,” Aaron grumbles. He crosses one leg over the other. Even talking about this with Willie right there, touching him, is going to be too much unless he’s careful. “That’s old-school.”

“Guess it was different when I was in juniors,” Willie says, and fuck, now Aaron’s thinking about that too, Willie somewhere with a dirty magazine-- whatever’s in them, Aaron doesn’t know; he has the internet, okay-- and his hand around his dick and teeth in his lip.

“Aaron,” Willie says.

“It probably was different,” Aaron says. His voice cracks. “You know. Then.”

This is the problem with sweatpants, he thinks. They don’t hide anything, and his dick is hard now, brushing against the fabric. He sees Willie see it, but Willie doesn’t automatically jerk away in disgust, which Aaron appreciates on some level.

“I’m gonna,” Aaron says. He stands up, clutching his beer bottle too tight. “Get my cupcake. Um. Yeah.” There’s no point in attempting to hide it, not now. He goes to the kitchen and gets the plastic container out of the fridge, then walks stiffly upstairs. He doesn’t go back to the living room, but instead sits cross-legged on his bed and swipes a finger through the remnants of the frosting.

It’s buttercream. It’s good.

He flops down onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. His dick is still hard, and Aaron resists the urge to reach down and take care of it.

There’s a knock on his door. Of course there is. Willie’s being-- nice, and captainly, and Aaron is not here for that right now. Aaron wants to eat his birthday cupcake and jerk off and make as much noise as he likes.

“Aaron,” Willie says, through the door. “I know you’re in there.” There’s a pause. “It’s alright, yeah? I’m not freaked out.”

Aaron gets off the bed and yanks the door open. It’s the responsible thing to do. He hates that that’s what he’s doing.

Willie meets his eyes and doesn’t look down, this time. “Hey,” he says. “Can I come in?” Aaron shrugs at him and Willie takes it as the half-meant invitation it is and walks past Aaron. He sits down on the bed and sees the cupcake. His mouth quirks up.

Aaron can either sit down next to him or he can stand somewhere between the bed and the door with a hard-on. He doesn’t like either option.

“I just wanted to say it’s not a big deal,” Willie says. “And make sure you weren’t freaking out about it, that’s all."

“Okay,” Aaron says. He looks over towards the window. Not at Willie.

“I’m sure you don’t need a speech about how I used to be your age and that shit happens,” Willie says.

“Nope,” Aaron agrees. He slides a glance over at Willie, but he can’t read anything off Willie’s face, except that Aaron still _wants_ him, and Willie sitting on his bed isn’t helping. Not at all.

“Alright,” Willie says equitably. “I know it’s not me, so--”

Aaron swallows, hard. Willie stops mid-sentence, and Aaron thinks that this is it for real, but Willie doesn’t move. Aaron takes a step though, unconscious but forward.

Willie says, “oh.” Aaron doesn’t think he’s meant to hear it.

-

This is fucked up, or him fucking up, and he thinks about his list, the two columns and their dividing line.

-

“Aaron,” Willie says. “It’s still okay.”

“I’m dealing with it,” Aaron says, and maybe he’s reading too much into how Willie’s legs have shifted apart minutely on the bed. Maybe he’s projecting. He knows how much he wants it and how that means he's going to interpret even the tiniest of signs.

“Yeah,” Willie says, and this time he licks his bottom lip. It’s got to be just as unconscious as Aaron moving closer to him. He still does it.

There’s something in the air now. Aaron isn’t projecting that. He takes another step forward and sees how Willie looks him over, how Willie’s gaze flicks down to where he’s still hard in his sweats, the line of his dick more than apparent.

It’s his birthday, and Aaron is pretty sure they’ve already crossed at least one line.

He hears Willie say, “fuck,” on an exhale. He takes one more step until he’s close enough that it’s telegraphed.  "Please," Aaron says, and he doesn’t want to sound like he’s begging but he is. It’s the kind you almost choke on, caught deep in his chest.

There's a moment, then, when Aaron doesn't know what Willie is going to do. If he's going to kick Aaron out, tell him to go to bed for real and that it'll be different in the morning.

Willie doesn't.

"Fuck," Willie says. This time it sounds like blasphemy. He says, "come here."

Aaron doesn't feel ungainly often. His skating is good and he knows how to control his body when he's in the weight room, but he scrambles up onto the mattress. Willie's hands are big and warm around Aaron's biceps when he catches him.

"You get that this is a fuckin'-- if this gets screwed up," Willie says. "You get that, right."

"I thought about it," Aaron tells him. "I don't, I want you, please."

It's the second please that does it, it must be, because Willie yanks him forward until their lips bang together in an approximation of a kiss, something that starts out harsh and hard and stays that way. It feels like frustration and Aaron pants into it, tries to give back as much as he gets.

They kiss for a long moment, Willie’s mouth sure against his, before Willie pulls back. "You've done this before," he says. It isn't a question.

Aaron swallows, nods. "I'm, yeah," he says. "You're not the first person I've-- been with. You wouldn't be the first person to fuck me, either."

"Jesus, kid," Willie says. "That's--"

Aaron shrugs at him. The movement is efficient. "This way you don't have to ask."

"Guess I don't," Willie says. He reaches up and pushes a piece of hair out of Aaron's face. "But you have to tell me what you want."

That's something he can do, he thinks, though it's harder to vocalize it at first. Maybe it's because he's been picturing it for so long, and half the time he didn't picture Willie asking as much as he pictured Willie taking.

"Can I," Aaron starts. He gestures, loosely. "Wanna suck you off."

Willie's eyes are lidded. "That's what you want for your birthday," he says. There's something incredulous on the surface of it, and Aaron sinks off the edge of the bed.

He sucks in air. "It's a good start," he says.

“A good start, eh,” Willie says. He’s wearing basketball shorts, blue ones that say UCLA right above the hem. He must have gotten them in California, Aaron thinks absently. There’s a bulge in the front where he’s hard.

Aaron runs his hands up Willie’s thighs. The last time something like this had happened had been at the draft, night after the first round, when he’d been slap-happy with going first. Over the summer it had been furtive hand jobs, mostly, and that has always felt easier.

He notices how Willie’s legs jerk apart, how it’s easier for him to settle in, mouth at the line of Willie’s dick through the mesh of his shorts. Willie’s eyebrows are raised when Aaron looks up, but he doesn’t say anything, and Aaron licks over where the head is, where the fabric is starting to get damp.

Willie’s breath is getting shallow already, and like-- they’re doing this, he knows that it’s not one-sided, but maybe it’s less so than he thought.

Aaron reaches up and eases down Wllie’s shorts down to his knees. He’s not wearing underwear underneath them, dick red and wet at the tip and Aaron leans in, sucks the head into his mouth.

If he only gets one shot at this, he wants to be good at it. He’s approached everything that way and it’s worked out for him pretty fucking well so far.

He sucks hard again, fits his hand around the base of Willie’s dick. It’s heavy in his hand, heavy against his tongue. Aaron feels his shoulders drop. He’s bracing himself against Willie’s thigh, feels the hair on Willie’s legs rough underneath his palm.

Willie’s vocal, all low moans he seems to be trying to keep back, and he doesn’t jerk forward into Aaron’s mouth like guys he hooked up with in juniors did. Aaron sucks harder, bobs his head. Settles into it.

After a moment Willie’s hand comes up to cradle Aaron’s head, but he doesn’t push, just fits his palm over the back of Aaron’s skull and strokes over the back of Aaron’s neck until he shudders.

“You like this,” Willie says, and rocks forward so carefully that Aaron moans around him in encouragement. He’s going faster now, bobbing his head, now that he has some sense of Willie’s reactions. His dick is throbbing, practically, almost a distraction. Aaron wants to get Willie off and then he wants to-- he doesn’t know. Rub off against Willie’s thigh or hip or let Willie fuck him, or both. All of it. He wants too fucking much.

“You good?” Willie asks. Aaron hums in acknowledgement and sucks harder, until Willie’s breath starts to go ragged. He’s thrusting forward more and more, small aborted motions, and Aaron makes another encouraging noise and tries to relax his throat, take more of Willie’s length in. He doesn’t quite succeed, but it’s enough that Willie curses and stutters out a warning, yanking a little at Aaron’s hair.

Fuck, Aaron is this close to coming in his own sweats.

He moans again, tries again, and Willie pulls back, wraps a hand around himself and jerks himself off with long, fluid strokes until he’s coming over his hand, teeth still embedded in his lip. Aaron’s close enough that some of it gets on his mouth, his lower lip, and he touches his thumb to it. Sucks his thumb into his mouth, next.

Willie says, “Jesus Christ,” and pulls Aaron up to the bed. Aaron goes, fits himself into Willie’s lap. They’re about the same size but he feels almost small here. He doesn’t have time to continue the thought before Willie is kissing him until they’re both breathless, until Aaron is panting and grinding against Willie’s hip.

“Fucking eager for it,” Willie whispers, his mouth pressed up right against Aaron’s neck. His teeth scrape at the thin skin there and Aaron stutters his hips forward. “That’s what it’s like, eh?”

“Please,” Aaron says, tries to settle into a rhythm, but Willie is holding him just off-kilter enough that he isn’t going to be able to get there without help.

“Well,” Willie says. He still sounds a little startled, but amused now, too. Aaron envies that. “I guess this can be a present too, not just the beer.” He leans back a little, settling himself, and then wraps one big hand around Aaron’s length. Aaron looks down at it. Willie’s stroking him loosely, and he can see how the red tip of his dick keeps emerging from the circle of Willie’s fingers, leaking enough to slick the way. Willie’s other hand is on his waist, gripping him hard and keeping him in place. Aaron’s head thunks down onto Willie’s shoulder and Willie doesn’t stop, keeps jerking him off, keeps mouthing at Aaron’s skin. It’s not enough to leave a mark but it’s enough that Aaron will know.

He bites down on Willie’s shoulder when he comes. He figures it’s better than moaning Willie’s name.

There’s a suspended moment where all Aaron can do is hear Willie breathe, hand still tight on Aaron’s hip, and then he says, “okay.”

Aaron pulls back and looks at him. “I’m okay,” he says. “I’m good.”

Willie nods. His face is set, but Aaron doesn’t think it’s bad, not when this decision was already made. “Great to hear, rookie,” he says, and then he kisses Aaron once more, a brief brush of lips. “Not how I thought we were gonna celebrate your birthday.”

“I liked it better this way,” Aaron says. He shudders a little when Willie starts tracing circles over his skin. He could get hard again pretty fucking soon if Willie keeps that up. “A lot better.”

“We’re talking about this later,” Willie says. “Doesn’t have to be now, but--”

Aaron nods. “Yeah,” he says. “I get it.”

Something in Willie’s eyes settles. “Okay,” he says, and pulls Aaron back in.


End file.
